The Mart

The world takes all kinds. So does Wal Mart.

I must preface this whole post with the declaration that I am no snob and no elitist. Do I think that I am somehow better than anyone that shops at Wal Mart?  No.  Do I enjoy shopping there?  No. In fact, in the spirit of honesty, let's make that a Hell No (excuse the french).

It is so deeply ingrained in my character to appreciate a good bargain, I will always seek it out. Whether it be out of necessity or simply for the pure joy of knowing that I got a good deal, rest assured,  I will seek out the bargain. So if I know that some particular item is cheapest at The Mart, then to The Mart I will go.

Do I prefer the soft lighting and the hardwood floors in the "lounge" area of our local Fred Meyer? Oh yes! I do. The fact that it even boasts a "lounge" area at all -AND a kiddy play center!-  beckon to every parental fiber of my being. So I do shop there often, but I save it for my fun shopping. For when I need things like special cheeses and butter lettuce and tahini. That is my "happy place" shopping. Wal Mart is for my nitty gritty shopping.

Today I was probably asking for it. It was a busy day filled with swim lessons and running errands and trying to sqeeze in a workout. I had a small window to grocery shop and it lay dangerously close to naptime. But sometimes you just have to brazen it out , yes? So I loaded up the tinies and with a foreboding sense of trepidation we drove to the Mart.  I want to stress that what took place there is no stretch of the truth or exaggeration on my part. I'm keepin it real.

First we encountered a woman who was shopping in her bikini top. (They let people do that?!) Then there was another woman who we crossed paths with in almost every single aisle and every single time she was SHOUTING (I use shouty capitals because she really was shouting) "Bobby Lee! Bobby Lee you are in so much trouble! Bobby Lee you where are you?!  WHERE. ARE. YOU! You stop that right now! Bobby Lee when I find you, you are dead!  BOBBY LEE!!!! (with bass in her voice) when she'd really had enough.  Incidentally, Bobby Lee never seemed to grow tired of exasperating this woman. It was like his powers only became stronger, the more frustrated she got. But hey, no judgements. We've all had our Bobby Lee moments...just hopefully a few decibels quieter....?

There was an unscrupulous fellow who quite awkwardly would not let me walk past him in the aisle and when I finally asked quietly if we could sneak by, he said definitively, "No... But you're a pretty thing." Gah! Radar up! Im not! Im not a pretty thing! Please dont murder me right here in the middle of the cereal aisle! My mental faculties were in order just enough to smile politely, turn, and try not to break out in a full on sprint.

There were arguments with Bigger One over choosing a birthday present for a friend, and a lengthy discussion regarding the benefits of giving more than receiving. There were potty emergencies. Of course there were! My kids, may the good Lord bless them, seem to have to go to the bathroom (ifyaknowwhatImean) every single public place we go. Especially parks. BLURG.

 Long ago we had to establish the worldwide code language for Number 1 and Number 2 so they weren't hollering about having to poop in the middle of whatever fine establishment we happen to be in. Ah, the life of a mother. We try to steer clear of the poop talk, but sometimes it's just inescapable.

 Littler One got cold in the refrigerator section and proceeded to lose it by way of wailing and clinging to my neck while he sat in the front of the cart and I valiantly tried to keep steering and comfort him simultaneously.

When all was said and done, we made it to the checkout line where we waited a very long time, and I entertained with tickling games and letting Bigger One pick out some kind of fruity flavored bottled water. Which turned out to be carbonated. I did not discover this until it was scanned, handed back to me, and I cracked it open at which point it exploded all over the front of me,  the floor, and the little card-slider-machine. (That cant be the technical term for them...?).

 I had to laugh because my only other option at the moment was to curse, and I was still well within earshot of both tiny tenders. Littler One noticed that my shirt was now soaking and clinging to me, at which point he points and giggles and loudly repeats "Boobies! You's boobies Mama!". Mercifully enough, this wasnt until we were on our way out the door.

There was a moment while I was in the parking lot, wringing out my shirt as best I could while still wearing it, and loading up the kids and groceries into the hot, muggy car, - let's say a good 30 seconds there, where I seriously considered taking up smoking. In that moment it seemed like a novel idea.

In the end, I still have nothing against The Mart. But next time I will pack a tranquilizer dart (or 3) in my purse because it's a jungle out there.